


Half A League Onward

by Poemsingreenink



Series: Sing To The End [3]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Emma cullen is a bad ass, Horse Racing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:23:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poemsingreenink/pseuds/Poemsingreenink
Summary: Emma races horses and realizes she might be more cut out for this life than she thought.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after Firefly Bright, but probably won't make any sense if you don't read All These Bruises On My Wings.

Now that she was a comfortable distance away from the event that had been Rose Creek, Emma almost couldn’t believe how well and truly crazy she’d been. Rallying a group of farmers and townsfolk to fight an entire army with only seven well trained men in the mix? That had to set some kind of impossible bar for madness, and she’d told Goodnight as much one night as they relaxed around their shared campfire.

Goodnight had been using the butt of his rifle to crush beans for the next day’s coffee, and the gravely _crunch_ , _crunch_ , _crunch_ was keeping an even rhythm with the _scrape_ , _scrape_ , _scrape_ of the knife she was sharpening.  Billy was in his own world, flipping through one of their books, and so deep in concentration that he didn’t look up even when Goodnight threw his head back and laughed.

Unsure, Emma halted her sharpening. Her declaration, so strong and solid when it had first left her lips had been blown away like so many dry autumn leaves, and she wasn’t sure how angry about it to be.

“Emma,” Goodnight chuckled. “Who exactly do you think has been marching off to every war in the history of human kind? Each army might have a handful of actual warriors, but I can assure you the bulk of the armed forces during a crisis consist mostly of farmers and regular towns folk. What you did was downright traditional.”

It was a sobering thought, and not one she entirely liked. She’d found comfort in the idea that Rose Creek had been as far off the farm as she could possible get. It made her new life look downright normal, and some small part of her had needed that.

Unsure of how to respond she’d gone back to sharpening her knife.

 

* * *

 

 

The starting flag was a bright bit of orange cloth, and when it hit the air Emma took off like a bullet out of a gun.

She’d left her hair unbound for this. A woman astride a racing black horse with her red hair trailing behind her like a flame created quite a picture, and as much as this was a race it was also a show.

“Come on, Jeremiah! Show her how it’s done!”

It was also a bit of a gamble. Most men were cruel. Especially to women who stepped into arenas they believed to be theirs. Some acted no better than spoiled children in need of a stern lesson in manners.

She took a corner hard, turning her shoulders with the movements of her horse, and leaned forward in the saddle as they raced across the stretch of green. For a few seconds she was alone, but then she heard the pounding of a second set of hooves, and her challenger appeared.

Jeremiah Frey was about her age, handsome, quick, and eager to trample Emma into the ground. His nut brown horse swung close to her as they disappeared into a clump of trees, and his hand shot out intending to grab a handful of her hair. 

She’d always been a good rider, and when the hand came for her she pulled her own horse so close that the elbow she threw out sank into the man’s side. He yelped and jerked away as Emma ducked under a low branch.

The only light in the little grove of shadows came from the bits of sun peeking through the interstices of the swaying trees, but Emma was soon charging out of the grove. The bright fields that opened before her were so overflowing with sunshine that she was momentarily blinded. From the string of curses that hit the air she knew Jeremiah was suffering from the same irritation.

Blinking black spots away, she gritted her teeth and hoped there was nothing ahead that would trip her horse and leave her with a broken neck.

The course was simple enough; just a wide circle around a farmer’s field with the occasional obstacle to contend with. She knew she could beat this trumped up town boy, but as much as she wanted to leave him in her dust Goodnight’s advice was echoing loudly in her mind.

 _You can’t just win. You have to keep it exciting! They need to be on the edge of their seats. These people are starved for entertainment and we’re here to fill’_ _em up!_

She pulled on the reins, slowing her horse until she spotted Jeremiah again. His face was hard and focused as he dug his spurs into his poor horse's sides. He was keeping his distance now, and didn’t seem to notice when his hat went flying off his head.

Emma rose in the saddle to take a neat jump over a fallen log, and almost lost her balance on the landing when she heard Billy’s voice sing loud and clear across the fields.

“Go Emma! _Go_!”

A grin blossomed across her face, and she _whooped_ loudly in answer.

She went splashing through a shallow stream, and the pounding of the hooves created waves of water that soaked through her pants legs. Jeremiah was right behind her, and when they were shoulder-to-shoulder again she flashed him a smile that felt more like a snarl before pulling her mount to the left to circle around a tall pile of hay.

The fence where the race would end was straight ahead, and as she urged her horse into an all-out run a strong gust of wind hit her face. The sun was warm on her back, the air sweet in her lungs and in that moment she was light and free. She would live forever.

She crossed the finish line with Jeremiah only a breath behind her. Goodnight’s joyous shout was the first thing she heard, but it was quickly swallowed by the approving roar of the crowd.

* * *

Emma dismounted some feet away from the finish line. Sweat was trickling down the back of her neck and soaking through the pits of her shirt. She grimaced at the feel of the wet cloth, and thought longingly of the clean shirt that was waiting in her bag.

In contrast her throat felt dry and scratchy, and she was about to go hunting for water when an unfamiliar woman was slapping her hard across the back.

“Well done, Copper Curls! I have been waiting for someone to knock that petty little piss ant off his high horse for years.”

Emma blinked. The other woman had arms that were bulging with muscle, and dirty blonde hair cut so short it almost disappeared entirely under her weather worn hat. She wore pants, the same as Emma, and had muddy hazel eyes that were looking at Emma like she'd never seen such a wonderful sight in her life.

“My name is Mary, and I’m the local blacksmith and ferryman. You need anything before you leave Copper Curls you just come by my shop and I'll fix you right up.”

Emma opened her mouth to thank her, and all the breath was stolen from her body when large arms wrapped around her from behind and lifted her high into the air.

“I cannot believe the miracle I just witnessed!” boomed a loud male voice.

Billy materialized in Emma’s sightline with a knife pulled halfway from its sheath.

“Oh Homer! Put her down!” Mary chided.

“She’s so tiny, Mary!” the voice dubbed Homer declared. “Look how tiny she is!”

Mary snorted. “Well, I am not tiny. I am your sister-in-law, your wife is right over yonder, and any one of those reasons separate or together means you should release that nice woman right now.”

Billy’s knife didn’t disappear until Emma’s boots hit the grass, and he then he gracefully crossed the distance to stand with her.

“Apologies for, Homer,” Mary said. “He’s tends to forget what a bear he is.”

The description made Billy’s lip twitch, and Emma turned to greet a barrel chested mountain of a man. 

“Oh my lord!”

Goodnight’s voice, and then Goodnight himself joined the group. His hat was in his hands, and there was impressive amount of winnings lining the bottom.

“Your last name wouldn’t happen to be ‘Horne’ would it?” Goodnight asked. 

“It’s Johnson actually,” Homer answered.

He pulled a handful of bills out of his pocket, and dropped them into Goodnight’s hat.

“No offense, darlin’, but I never in my wildest dreams believed a tiny thing like you could outrace Jeremiah Frey. He’s the best horseman in these parts.”

“Well, Mrs. Cullen is a deep ocean of lovely mysteries,” Goodnight agreed.

Then he reached right back into the hat, fished out a substantial amount of the bills and presented them to Mary. The blacksmith grinned, showing off her tobacco-stained teeth, and accepted her winnings. 

“My dreams have always been a mite different than Homer’s,” she said. 

Emma flushed, and was quite sure she’d never been paid such a high compliment. The pleasure that coursed through her was warm, bright and oh so terrible.

* * *

They declined Mary and Homer's offer of lunch and assistance. None of their supplies was in need of mending, and as soon as Emma's horse was given a suitable recovery time they planned to be on their way. Whupping the local golden boy was all well and good, but golden boys had a tendency to tarnish after an unexpected loss. Jeremiah Frey had stomped right into the local saloon after the race, and nothing good came from a drunk and tarnished golden boy.

"Pride is a terrible thing," Goodnight said, strolling alongside Billy as he counted their winnings. "Or is it youth? Either way I don't want to shoot him if he storms over here in the middle of the night demanding a rematch." 

"It's cute that you think he'd demand a rematch and not anything else," Billy said dryly.

Regret flashed over his face as soon as the words hit the air, and he gave Emma an apologetic glance.

"Not that anything would happen."

Emma rolled her eyes, and adjusted the lead-rope in her hand. Her horse was as sweet tempered as she was swift, and would have followed her around the pen for her cool down without it, but the rope’s rough texture against her palms was helping to ground Emma after so much excitement.

"What I mean," Billy tried again. "Is that-it's..."

The conversations between the three of them were easier to navigate these days with so much more out in the open, but there were still times when the two of them looked as bashful as boys caught trampling through her vegetable garden. It was annoying.

"I am perfectly familiar with the cruelties that men like to inflict on those around them, Billy. You don't need to be so guarded."

She smiled then. Smiles could sometimes be counted on to eased the sting from her words, but she'd hardly ever bothered to do it with anyone beside Mathew. It seemed to help with these two though, and she was happy when Billy relaxed.

"Besides, I think he'd take one look at those porcupine quills of yours and head in the opposite direction."

Goodnight laughed, and nudged Billy playfully.

"She's right. You'll notice he passed by the offer of a quick draw. He wanted a horse race because he thought it was a sure win. He must have seen us ride into town and been unimpressed with the horsemanship."

He dropped his voice. "No offense, _cher_."

Billy shrugged. "I thought he was going to piss himself when Emma mounted."

"Tromped by a woman," Goodnight said cheerfully. "If he's a smart boy he'll do some reevaluating. Try to see what kind of man he really is, and just how far his talents lie. If he's not, well I see a lot more drinking in his future and an avoidance of his reflection."

"I can relate," Emma said, gruffly. “There are times as of late when I don’t quite recognize myself.”

The horse nudged Emma’s arm with her nose, and left a trail of slobber along her sleeve.  

"You just need to stop using mirrors after Goodnight,” Billy said. “He can't help but break them.” 

"Hey now!" Goodnight protested.

Jokes from Billy were becoming frequent occurrence that Emma usually enjoyed, but she couldn’t stop to appreciate this one.

“It just occurred to me," Emma said. "That if my mama had ever caught me gambling she’d have taken a switch to my back. My daddy believed it was the worst of sins, and Mathew didn’t even play cards.”

Goodnight was watching her with a curious expression.

“Here I am horse racing, and not feeling a lick of guilt about it.”

There was an emotion bubbling up in Emma's chest; something large, and unexpected that she was too afraid to pop.

"I always knew I was a bit headstrong, but I never considered myself to be....”

“To be what?” Goodnight asked.

His tone was gentle, and the gratitude that washed through her was so strong that she was almost sick with it.

“Wild,” she said.

Her free hand found her wedding ring, the same solid circle of gold she still had no desire to remove.

"Was this always what I was going to need? This wild life to be so fulfilled? Or is it that the old me been so thoroughly burned away that I’m a different person entirely? God, I’ve been so _happy_ these past few months.”

“Why does ‘happy’ sound like ‘miserable’ in your mouth?” Billy asked.

Answers sat heavy on Emma's tongue, but she swallowed them down. Preferring to choke on confusing truths than allow any of them escape.

“Emma?” Goodnight asked.

"I knew being out here would be hard, and I so thoroughly prepared myself for sorrow that I'm unsure what to do with all this joy."

The breath she sucked in through her nose smelled like lavender and fresh green grass. They walked together in silence, and as they made the final loop Emma spotted one of the town girls, a little thing no more than eight or nine, watching them from the other side of the fence. Not for the first time Emma wondered about what a strange picture the three of them painted.

* * *

 

Goodnight and Billy's horses were waiting patiently for the group at the start line that was also the finish, but neither of the men mounted.  They'd all be walking for a little while more. Possibly until they made camp that evening. 

Goodnight bent down to check on his horses’ hooves, and Emma was about to do the same when she felt a touch at her elbow.  Touch was even rarer than jokes from Billy, and she turned toward him, curious as to what he needed.

"You feel clumsy," Billy said. "Clumsy and too rough for any of it. Like you're going to break it or it's going to break you, and so you don't trust it."

She nodded stiffly.

Billy tucked his hands into his pockets, and they emerged with an apple core that he offered to Emma's mount. It crunched happily on the offered treat, and Billy's horse snorted in disapproval at being ignored. 

"That's normal," he said. 

If there was more Billy wanted to tell her it was abruptly aborted when his own horse shoved its head into his back. The big animal walked forward until Billy had to face him, and wrap his arms around the big animal’s neck.

"Yes, yes. Calm down. You get one too," he grumbled.

He tried to turn, and Emma flapped a hand at him.

"Thank you, Billy. I hear you."

He tipped his hat to her, and then Goodnight was at his side chattering about New Mexico, and the kind of scenery they could look forward to once they'd left Texas far behind them. And oh, do you both agree that it's far past time that we left Texas and set out for New Mexico?

Emma adjusted her own hat so that it better covered her face (the number of freckles she'd accumulated had tripled since she'd left Rose Creek), and followed her companions back to the wild.

**Author's Note:**

> No horses were harmed in the writing of this race. All horse shaped mistakes are mine, and complaints should be submitted in writing to my parents. None of those mistakes would have happened had they just bought me that pony.....I would have named him Skittles.


End file.
